


A Very Stupid Decision

by rinthegreat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Plot, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sex Club, Shance Fluff Week 2017, but no actual sex, but then plot appeared, canonverse, day 1: black and blue, seriously this was supposed to be some hurt/comfort fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinthegreat/pseuds/rinthegreat
Summary: “This shows everybody here that you’re mine.  No one is going to even dare think of touching you.  You’re safe with me.”  Finally, Shiro’s breathing calms down, Lance’s voice tethering him to reality.  “You just stand there and look pretty and let me do the talking, just like we discussed, okay?”based on notdeadjack's undercover pleasure slave!shiro fanart





	A Very Stupid Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Better late than never! Day 1of Shance Fluff Week 2017: Black and Blue. Inspired by [this perfect fanart](http://notdeadjack.tumblr.com/post/160746357133/look-at-this-shiro-this-shows-everybody-here). Beta'd by [thislittlekumquat](http://thislittlekumquat.tumblr.com/). The crappy title is all mine.
> 
> Warning: this is not as fluffy as I wanted it to be :/

“We’ve received a transmission from the Blade of Marmora.  They have a contact on a nearby planet,” Allura announces at breakfast one morning.

Shiro, exhausted from another restless night haunted by memories from the arena, can’t figure why the princess won’t wait until they’ve all eaten and had their space coffee – Lance named it – before announcing missions.  “Contact for what?”  He inserts feigned interest into his question for the sake of leaving a good impression.  None of the other paladins even seem to be paying attention – Hunk is staring at the green goo like it personally offended him, Keith spins the spoon around the bowl five times between bites, Lance is gazing off into space, and Pidge appears to have face-planted into her plate.

“Excellent question!”  Allura chirps.  She’s far too awake in the mornings.  “The Blade believes that Zarkon is planning another large scale attack and that this particular contact will have information on the time and place.”

In retrospect, the answer was never going to affect what Voltron did, so it probably wasn’t worth asking.  “Excellent, Allura.  When can we meet them?”  Still, no one but Shiro is paying any attention to the conversation.

She pulls up a chair to the dining table, excited.  “That’s where the mission gets more interesting.  The contact will need to be met in a club.”

“Club?”  Lance, who had been ignoring the entire exchange up till now, immediately perks up.

“Yes!  It’s a special club where –“

“I volunteer,” Lance interrupts immediately.

“ – certain people will bring their pets.”

Shiro gives Lance a stern look, reminding him wordlessly to be polite, before turning back to Allura.  “Pets?”

“Well…that’s what they call it.  We didn’t really have them on Altea, so the translation might be a little odd…”

She looks to Coran, who immediately jumps in like he’d been waiting for an invitation all along.  “I believe you Earthlings would refer to them as ‘pleasure slaves’ rather than pets.  From what I’ve learned of your culture you use the term ‘pets’ to call other Earth creatures of lesser intelligence you keep in captiv–“

But Shiro can’t get past the word _slave_.  It’s like every memory he’d relived the night before is being brought to the surface again.  “Our contact is in a club for sex slaves,” he deadpans, hoping to be brought back from a very vivid hallucination.

“Yes.”  Allura slides a holo chip onto the table and presses a button.  An image appears above the screen showing two aliens: one dressed…presumably normally for an alien, while the other has their body nearly completely on display with only the genitalia covered and a collar around their throat.  Shiro recoils from it as Allura zooms in on the ‘pet’.  “We will need one of you to dress in disguise and infiltrate –“

“I volunteer,” Lance repeats at the same time Shiro says: “No.”

“Excuse me?”  Allura sits up straight, levelling Shiro with a rare glare.  One that clearly says _How dare you question my authority, I am a queen_.

“I am not going to force anyone here to dress as a slave.”

“I volunteer!”  Lance shouts it this time, raising his hand.

Shiro clenches his fists.  He doesn’t want any of them to be subjected to that, _especially_ Lance.  “No,” he growls out again, low and threatening.  “Absolutely not.”

“Shiro.”  Allura draws his attention back.  “I understand your reservations, but the information here could prove vitally important, and the Blade is insistent that their contact would be compromised if contacted in any other way –“

“Then I’ll do it,” he decides before he can finish thinking through all the reasons why this is a _very stupid_ decision.  His brain catches up too late.

“Shiro –“

“Excellent,” Allura speaks smoothly over Lance.  “Shiro, you will go as the pet and Lance you will go as the master.  Coran will brief you both, and the rest of us will act as backup.”

* * *

 

Shiro’s hands shake as he pulls on the outfit, if it can even be called that.  The cloth portions are nothing more than sleeves – meant to cover his prosthetic – and underwear that would barely qualify for its namesake even if he wore five layers over it.

The worst part, though, is the metal.  Coran had given him two bands to hold the underwear in place, but rather than make him feel more secure, they just serve to remind him of his days as a slave of the Galra Empire.  He hesitates to snap them on, glancing at his reflection out of the corner of his eye.

Every scar from his battles – his imprisonment – is on display.  From the missteps as he earned the name _Champion_ to the whippings from when he’d given his meal to a child who’d been staring at it longingly.

The shuttle jerks, sending him tottering sideways.  He grabs the wall before he can fall, righting himself.  Before it can happen again, he snaps on the ‘belts’ – for lack of a better word – holding the cloth snug against his skin.

A sharp knock to the door nearly sends him toppling sideways again, especially when it’s followed by a tentative: “Shiro?”

He forces down the urge to cover himself.  Lance is bound to see him eventually.  Instead, he clears his throat.  “Come in.”

Lance opens the door, looking down at the metal he’s carrying in his hands.  “So I was thinking that I should maybe paint you to match my makeup, you know?  Really sell the whole…”  Lance trails off as he looks up, finally making eye contact with him.  Shiro freezes, torn between his fight or flight responses.  He’s hideous, he knows that.  His skin is twisted, torn and scarred.  His hair has already started to go prematurely white from stress.  And his arm, though covered by the long gloved sleeves, is a constant reminder that he’s less than human.

There’s no way Lance could find him anything more than repulsive.

“…Wow…”  Lance breathes, confirming Shiro’s fears.  He regrets not covering himself up.  Regrets agreeing to this in the first place.  Regrets becoming the black paladin at all.

Lance shakes himself, stepping forward.  His cheeks are tinted pink, as if embarrassed that he’d been caught staring, and his eyes haven’t left the long scar across Shiro’s chest.  He licks his lips, trying to find the right words, eventually breaking the silence.  “Um…anyway…my makeup?”  He looks up at Shiro’s face, and Shiro is finally able to take in Lance’s appearance.

Where Shiro’s on display, Lance is completely covered: his upper body by some kind of dark vest with sky blue accents, his arms and midriff by a purple under shirt, and his legs by pants in the same deep blue as his vest.  But what Lance was talking about, what really catches Shiro’s eye, is the sky blue swoosh under Lance’s eyebrows, in the exact same color as the vest’s accents and – Shiro glances briefly down at his waist – the accents on his belts.

They’re a matching set.

“What about it?”  Shiro asks, finally finding his voice.

“I thought maybe I could put some on you to make you match.”  Lance holds up the pile of metal in his arms, and Shiro catches the glint of something plastic.  A makeup case.

In the pause before he answers, Lance’s eyes flick back down to his chest.  Shiro thinks his heart might stop if Lance comments on his skin, so he replies, once again without thinking.  “Yeah, ok.”

“Good.”  The agreement sparks movement into Lance again, who motions for him to follow.  He lets Lance lead him to a seat and ease him down into it.  The metal pinches, uncomfortable, making him hope the club they’re going to will be more of a dancing style club and less of a sitting one. 

“Do you care what I do?  I’ve always wanted to do something like a cat eye or a wing…you know if you ever were interested.”  Lance is babbling – Shiro knows him well enough to tell – but the sound of his voice is soothing.  Despite himself, Shiro relaxes, closing his eyes.

The brush is feather light where it touches his eyelid, almost ticklish.  “I think I’ll make your eye a little darker, you know?  Then add highlights in the same color as me.  I mean if we’re playing this, I want to do it how I would if I were…you know…into that.”

The brush moves to the other eye, smoothing from the crease of his nose across his eye just like the other.  “Ok, open.”

Shiro obeys, breath freezing in his throat when he sees just how close Lance is to him.  He can count every eyelash, see every subtle change of shade in his irises as they dart back and forth.  “I need to fix your right eye.  Close again?”  Lance’s breath dances across Shiro’s lips, and he thinks his stomach might drop right out of his body.  “Shiro?”

Oh, right.  He’s supposed to do something.

“Yes?”

The tinge on Lance’s cheeks appears again, and he wants…he wants –

Shiro snaps his eyes shut before he can think any further than that.  But his stomach clearly doesn’t get the memo, swooping when Lance touches his face, steadying his hand as he brushes on more eyeshadow.

He doesn’t open them again, even when the brush stops.  Lance’s hand doesn’t move either.

They’re both quiet as Lance adds to the disguise with a pencil.  Shiro feels the swipe against his temple, chin, forehead, even the sensitive fold of his ear.  He shivers, but Lance’s hand never moves.  Not until he’s done.

“Shiro, I…”

Shiro opens his eyes – Lance is far enough away he can’t feel the warmth of his breath, let alone that of his hand.  He _absolutely_ doesn’t miss it.

Lance’s eyes dart around before settling on his face again.  “Do you trust me?”

He sucks in a breath.  “Of course.”

Before he can register what’s happening, faster than he could stop it, Lance is there.  The pencil swipes twice up his stomach, once on each side, and when Lance backs away, Shiro looks down to see what it is.  The V of his hip bones are framed by sky blue, a stark contrast to his scars.

“Sorry, I…I thought it might be…I mean…I….”

“It’s fine, Lance.”  And it is, even if it had surprised him.

Lance nods, expression somber.  For the team jokester, he’s definitely taking this seriously.  He picks up the metal he’d brought in, offering it to Shiro from where he’s still kneeling in front of him.  “These ones go around your ankles, over your shoes.”  Shiro takes them.  He pulls on the shoes, black knee-high boots, before snapping the cuffs around them.  They connect together with a sky blue light.

His heart turns to ice in his chest.

Lance holds out the next one.  “This one goes around your arms, so…”

Shiro nods.  He stands up and turns to the side, putting both hands behind him.  Lance stands as well, moving behind him.  He clasps the metal over them, pulling his wrists flush together with a click.

Shiro stops breathing.

“And this one goes around your neck, like…”  Lance reaches up, snapping the last metal piece around Shiro’s neck.  He doesn’t resist.  “Like that.”  He disconnects from the scene, barely registering the thin blue strand reaching out from his neck to somewhere outside of his vision.

“Shiro?”

He’s back in the ring.

“Shiro?  Hey, you ok?”

They’re going to take Matt if he doesn’t do something.

“Shiro!”

A sharp sting to his cheek brings him back to the present, and Shiro looks up with an inhale so sharp, he almost chokes.  Lance’s face is painted with panic and concern, and the knowledge of it makes Shiro aware that he’s hyperventilating.  Shit…

“Shiro…are you with me?”

This time when Lance touches his cheek, it’s with the same tenderness as when he’d been applying the makeup.  Shiro leans into the touch, hating how desperate he is, how far he’s fallen in the span of a few minutes.  His gaze falls to Lance’s vest, choosing to focus on the seam instead of looking up at the disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, still struggling to gain control over his breathing.

“No, Shiro…it’s…”  Lance’s thumb swipes over his cheek bone.  “Look at this, Shiro.”  He knows the constant repetition of his name is to keep him grounded – he was trained to do the same.  Lance lifts his wrist, and Shiro finally realizes what the light blue represents.  It’s the leash, connecting him to Lance.

“This shows everybody here that you’re mine.  No one is going to even **dare** think of touching you.  You’re safe with me.”  Finally, Shiro’s breathing calms down, Lance’s voice tethering him to reality.  “You just stand there and look pretty and let me do the talking, just like we discussed, okay?”

“Ok,” he rasps out, watching Lance’s chest rise and fall with his breaths.

“We’re entering the atmosphere,” Keith’s voice crackles over the intercom, breaking whatever moment they could’ve had.

Lance steps back, the chain connecting them expanding along with his movement.  Shiro wonders how far it can go – how accurate Coran was when he’d made this.  “We should probably go back to the main cabin.”

Shiro lets Lance lead them back out, using the slimmer man as a shield when they step to where Keith’s piloting.  “How long before we land?”  Lance takes the lead in the conversation as well, dashing any fears Shiro might’ve had in letting him take control.

“Less than ten minutes.”  Keith glances back at them, giving Shiro a double-take.  “Damn, did Allura not have a different option?”

“Hey,” Lance’s voice comes out colder than Shiro’s ever heard it before.  “Back off, Keith.”

“I’m just –“

“I said: Back. Off.”

Keith holds his hands up, surrendering, before he turns back to his job as pilot.  “Sit down and buckle up then.”  Lance makes towards the co-pilot seat before Keith smacks his hand – the one without the cuff.  “You think a rich space-duke sits in the copilot seat?  Buckle in back there.”  He points to the passenger seats behind them.

Lance almost looks like he’s going to argue, but Shiro clears his throat and he calms down.  “Just don’t crash us, hot head.”

“I won’t, cargo pilot.”

He can feel Lance’s wrist shake, vibrating the cuff around his neck.  Shiro nudges Lance’s shoulder with his own, giving him a meaningful look.  The blue paladin’s eyes flick up, meeting his gaze, and the shaking stops.  In another life, Shiro reminds himself, this moment could’ve been something else.

Or maybe they never would’ve met.

“Landing.  Hope you guys are ready,” Keith’s voice cuts through the intercom, echoing with what he can hear through the door.

 “Just like we discussed,” Lance repeats, standing up.

For once, Shiro welcomes the release of control.  He lets Lance lead them down and out of the shuttle, barely glancing back to a frowning Keith.

The side of the planet they’ve landed on – Niahara if he remembers correctly – is in a perpetual state of dusk.  Coran had gone on and on about the placement and rotations of the moons relative to the suns, leaving one side almost always at dawn and the other almost always at dusk.  The clubs, to no one’s surprise, were on the dusk side.

The anxiety, the need for control, nearly overtakes him when they reach the club.  He hadn’t been watching where they were walking until Lance stopped suddenly in front of one of the buildings.  He jerks up, nearly stepping forward before Lance moves directly in front of him, reminding him of their roles in this mission.

“Password?”  The guard – exactly the same size and shape of a guard he’d expect to see on Earth, proving that some things are universal – asks.

Shiro’s heartrate skyrockets.  He’d been stressed about being dressed this way, but he hadn’t taken into consideration that they wouldn’t even get in.  The mission’s going to be killed before it starts.

Lance gives an exasperated sigh, as if he can’t believe the guard would have the _gall_ to question him.  “ _Linsperah_ ,” he pronounces, perfectly mimicking what Allura had trained them to say earlier. 

Shiro bites his lip to keep his jaw from dropping open.

“Very well.”  The guard steps aside, holding open the door for the two of them.  Shiro drops his gaze to the floor, trying to channel his best ‘whipped slave’ impression as they pass.

Turns out looking cowed and overwhelmed is a whole lot easier when they step inside.  The club is _loud_ like he’d expected, but it’s mostly dark around the edges, progressively getting more light towards the middle where a single spotlight – constantly changing colors – highlights two ‘pets’ going at it.  Shiro immediately flushes and looks back down.  This…this is too much.  He can’t believe he subjected himself to this.  Let alone Lance.

Speaking of…

He looks over at the blue paladin, the two of them making brief eye contact, and Shiro is glad to see that he’s not the only one uncomfortable here.  Lance leans in, “I won’t let anyone touch you,” he promises, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Before Shiro can find his voice, Lance leads them away.  All the details of the mission seem to have flown out of Shiro’s head – he can’t remember where they’re supposed to go or who they’re supposed to meet.  But Lance clearly knows.  He leads without hesitation, guiding them around the room and up the stairs, only to be stopped by another guard.  Lance gives the same password and they’re ushered the rest of the way up the stairs.

He pauses when they reach the top, right as one of the constantly turning lights swivels and blinds Shiro.  He blinks it away, but Lance is already guiding them forward.  When the scene refocuses itself, he sees several aliens reclining on a couch.  Well, one’s reclining on a couch – the others are wearing collars similar to Shiro’s own, catering to him.

Upon spotting them, the alien waves and all but one of them get up and walk away.  No leashes.

“So this is what a paladin of Voltron looks like.”  The alien doesn’t stand as he speaks, instead looking Lance up and down from where he’s still lounging on the couch.  “I thought you’d be bigger.”

Shiro bristles, offended on Lance’s behalf, but the blue paladin shrugs it off.  “And I thought you’d be Galra, yet here we are.”

“Common misconception.  All members of the Blade are Galra, but not all of their connections,” he responds with a wide, sweeping gesture.  “Please sit.  It is lonely having all these couches and no one to sit on them.”

Lance heads to the couch opposite the alien, Shiro only remembering to follow when the leash tugs on his neck.  So there is a limit.  He follows, hovering near the couch, rather than sit and let the belts dig into his waist.

“I confess, I’m surprised a paladin of Voltron has his own pet.”  Shiro freezes in place at that.

The blue paladin swallows, eyes twitching over to meet Shiro’s in the first sign of nerves he’s displayed all night, before looking back at the alien.  “A man shouldn’t be denied his pleasures.”  Lance speaks like he’s swallowing lemons, the normal smoothness of his voice replaced by a robotic cadence.  “But my preferences aren’t why we’re here.”

The alien straightens, looking Lance up and down once more, as if reevaluating him.  “No.  It isn’t.”  His eyes dart to his own pet, who steps away as if they’d been waiting for that cue.  The light catches on the space between the pet and master, and Shiro spots a thin, translucent leash.  Just the one.  He files that away as future knowledge – this pet is clearly the alien’s favorite.

“I should introduce myself.  I am Erulan.”

“Pérez.”

Shiro frowns at the fake name, but doesn’t say anything.  The alien, Erulan, seems skeevy.  Lance is smart to not give his real name.

“Parez,” Erulan responds, butchering the pronunciation, “I have something for you.”  He gestures and the pet steps forward, offering something to Lance with a bow.  Shiro immediately steps between them, blocking the pet from getting to Lance.

Clearly that’s a mistake.

“Well, well.  Your pet’s rather suspicious, aren’t they?”

The leash twitches on his neck, but it doesn’t pull.  “Step aside.  I can take this,” Lance tells him in a low voice.

He wants to protest, but something about this whole meeting rubs him the wrong way.  He can’t blow their cover.  So instead he steps aside, gritting his teeth while Lance takes the chip from the pet.  Nothing explodes at least.

“Tell me, Parez, did you bring a _human_ with you to be your pet as you pilot Voltron?”

Shiro startles, making eye contact with Erulan for the first time since they walked in.  The alien holds his gaze, a smirk playing at his lips, and Shiro’s stomach drops.

Erulan knows something.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Lance says coolly.  “What’s on the chip?”

“You keep him bound awfully tight.  How very…old fashioned of you.”

Shiro can _hear_ Lance gritting his teeth.  “Well, we humans don’t always get the latest fashions.  Are you going to tell me what’s on the chip or not?”

Erulan leans forward, ignoring Lance completely now.  “Actually, as I take a look, I have to say he looks familiar.  The scar…the white hair.  It’s as if I’ve seen him before.”

Shiro’s stomach turns to ice.

Lance stands up.  “Thank you for your time.  We will put this information to good use –“

Without any obvious cues from Erulan, two pets step out from the shadows and stop them.  One for each.  Great – so it _was_ a trap.

Erulan stands up, stepping towards Shiro.  Irrationally, he wants to back away, hide behind Lance.  Run.  Instead, he stands completely frozen as the alien stops barely an arm’s length away and looks him straight in the eye.

“Champion…”  He breathes, smirk fully revealed on his face.

“What do you think –“

Erulan holds his hand up, and Lance’s protest is cut off suddenly.  Shiro jerks his head around, but the pet is only covering the blue paladin’s mouth.  “You are not the one I’m interested in speaking with.”  Shiro turns his attention back to Erulan, whose gaze had never left him.  “I’m most interested in the black paladin.”

“If you are truly allied with the Blade of Marmora, then you wouldn’t be holding us hostage here,” Shiro growls out finally.

If Erulan is surprised, he doesn’t show it.  Instead he shrugs and goes back to his seat on the couch.  “Allied is such a…strong definition.  Let’s say I…enjoy the benefits they provide.”

“So what does that make you then?  A mercenary?”

The alien laughs at that.  “A mercenary kills for money.  As you can see,” he holds up his hands, “my hands are completely clean.”

“Why are you holding us hostage then?”

The sounds of a scuffle comes from behind him followed by the distinct sound of Lance transforming his Bayard.  “He wants the reward.”

“Bingo.”  Erulan tilts his drink in Lance’s direction, as if having a gun pointed at him doesn’t mean anything.  With his job, it might not.

“So you lured us here,” Shiro deduces.

Erulan frowns.  “Not exactly.  I wasn’t sure what to expect when the Blade of Marmora contacted me about this meeting.  I kept my options open.”

“What’s on the chip?”  Lance repeats

Erulan’s eyes finally flash over to him.  “You won’t let that question go, will you?”

“Not until you answer it.”

Erulan pauses for a moment.  “Perhaps you’re asking the wrong question, blue paladin.”

 “What –“

“If you ask me what’s on the chip one more time, you will regret it.”  His voice is ice, the playfulness snatched from his tone.

Lance steps in front of Shiro before he can do the same to Lance.  “What’s the right question then?”  He snaps, Bayard still pointed at Erulan.

“Are all _humans_ this dumb, or are you two the exception?”

Lance’s other hand comes up, grabbing the now-shaking Bayard in both hands.  “How do you know we’re human?”

“Took you long enough.”

“Just answer the **motherfucking question before I kill you!** ”  Lance explodes.  Shiro hears the tell-tale sign of the laser powering up.  He’s not kidding.

Shiro struggles, pulling at the cuffs and sleeves.  His Galra arm could no doubt break it open, but the pressure on his still human one isn’t pleasant – he’s afraid he’ll have to break his wrist to get his arms apart.

“You don’t think Earth has remained off the Galra’s radar so long, do you?  That taking the blue lion off the planet removed the target on it completely?”

Alarm bells ring in Shiro’s head.  They need to get out of here.  _Now_.  Erulan knows too much – things he shouldn’t know.

But Lance is still standing in front of him, shoulders trembling as he keeps his Bayard focused on the alien.  And Shiro still hasn’t broken free of his bonds.

“Tell me what they’re planning!”  Lance shouts.  “Tell me or I’ll shoot!”

It’s only then that Shiro hears the alarms from his mind echo in the outside world.  Not good.  “I must say the reward for the blue paladin is only half that of the black, but I’ll take what I can get,” Erulan sneers.

Lance shoots.

Three things happen at once:

  1. The pet, the one Shiro had noted as being Erulan’s favorite, jumps in front of the alien, taking the laser blast from Lance’s Bayard.
  2. Shiro breaks his arms free, crying out when his wrist _snaps_.
  3. A battalion of Galra droids appears on the top of the stairs, guns pointed directly at him and Lance.



Fuck.  Shit.  Damn.

He normally wouldn’t approve of cussing but his wrist is broken, he and Lance are two steps away from being captured or murdered, and no one thought it would be necessary for Shiro to have his Bayard on him.  So yes.  Fuck.

Lance, seeming to have forgotten all logic, is already pulling the trigger of his Bayard again.  Shiro doesn’t think – he just moves.

Before Lance’s finger can squeeze all the way back, Shiro tackles him, sending the shot a good six inches wide.  He shoves Lance, using his body to shield the blue paladin from the droids behind them until they hit the edge of the MVP section.  With a sweep of his Galra arm, the bannister is shredded, and the two of them topple off the balcony towards the floor, narrowly avoiding getting hit by the shots from behind them.

They hit the ground with twin thuds, Shiro’s breath leaving him all at once.  It _hurts_ , like falling tens of feet is bound to, but the screams and commotion around him remind him that they need to move.  Now.  He activates his prosthetic and slices through the cuffs on his ankles.

Shiro stands up, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and leans over Lance.  “We have to move, come on.”  His confidence returns now that most of the shackles are gone.  Lance has a homing beacon built into his wrist cuff.  They need to get up, get out, and activate it.

But Lance rolls over with a groan and a slight tug on Shiro’s leash.  His Bayard hangs loosely from his hand, deactivated.  “Lance, get up.”

“Hurts…”

“I know, but we need to move.  Come on.”

Lance gasps when Shiro helps him up, no doubt there are some nasty bruises he’ll need looked at when they get back, but Shiro ignores that for now.  He grabs Lance’s Bayard before it can clatter to the floor and pushes him towards the entrance.

The confusion caused by the alarms, sudden appearance of droids, and people crashing to the ground works in their favor.  The club is filled with chaos, everyone screaming and racing towards the door.  Shiro leads them into the crowd, letting the throng of people guide them along.  The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and he cradles his wrist to his chest, trying to ignore the pain from it.

This isn’t going to end well.  The doors are going to slam shut, the droids will start shooting into the crowd, someone will recognize them.  Shiro’s convinced.  But they make it through the door, outside where the neon lights and dusk-filled sky continue to disguise them as part of the crowd.

Shiro keeps them moving, down the streets, towards the edge of the city.  He goes until stars begin to dance across his vision, and then he keeps going.  They run – him leading Lance along – until the leash pulls on his neck, nearly dragging him down.

He turns to find Lance collapsed on the ground.

“Shit, Lance,” Shiro breathes, crouching down next to him.  There’s a sheen of sweat on Lance’s forehead – not completely out of place given the running – but his face is pale rather than flushed, and he’s cradling his right arm the same way Shiro is cradling his left.

Shiro reaches out with his prosthetic, brushing his fingers down Lance’s shoulder and arm, keeping his touch feather light.  When he hits Lance’s elbow, the blue paladin lets out a whimper, eyes snapping open.  Shiro doesn’t need to press harder to know what’s wrong – he can feel the swelling through the shirt.

“Hurts…”  Lance exhales, voice barely above a whisper.  “Think it’s broken.”

It’s more than broken, but Shiro doesn’t tell him that.  “I’m going to call for our teammates, ok?”

Lance nods, face screwed up in pain.  Shiro doesn’t waste any time in pressing the button.  His leash pulses between white and blue, a sign that the signal’s been sent.

“Ok, I called for them,” he tells Lance unnecessarily.  “So we just need to stay calm till they get here.”

Lance nods, closing his eyes, but Shiro shakes him one-handed until they open again.  “Shiro…what?”

“I need you to not pass out or go into shock, ok?  Not until reinforcements arrive.”

“Why?”

“Well for one, we’re connected, so I need you to be able to move.”  He’s pleased to see the ghost of a smile on Lance’s face at that, even if it disappears into a grimace.  “Also you’re the only one with a weapon.”

“What about your arm?”  Lance’s voice is pitched so low that Shiro has to lean in to hear it.

Lance’s breath ghosts over his exposed neck, shooting goosebumps across his skin.  He represses a shiver.  “Can’t exactly fight when I’m physically connected to you,” he replies in a voice as soft as Lance’s own.

Lance actually does shiver.

Shiro pulls back at that, overly conscious that he’s crossing a line he never should’ve even approached.  The worst mistake.

Lance’s pupils are blown wide, barely rimmed with blue – whether from adrenaline or pain, Shiro doesn’t know.  He’s close enough that Shiro could count all the stars reflected in Lance’s eyes if he wanted to.  Close enough to see a spattering of freckles across the bridge of Lance’s nose.

Adrenaline and good decisions have never been good bedmates, and now is no exception to that.  He’s leaning in before he can change his mind.  His eyes remain locked on Lance’s freckles to the last second, shutting as their lips meet.

Lance is coarse, chapped from the run.  His lower lip has a ridge where he regularly bites it.  Shiro runs his tongue along it, as if he could smooth it down.  All it succeeds in doing is elicit another shiver from Lance as the blue paladin pushes closer to him, chest brushing against Shiro’s fractured wrist.

He recoils back, clutching it tighter to his chest.

For a moment, Lance looks heartbroken, but his gaze drops to Shiro’s hand.  His expression twists.  “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

Lance tilts his head, a weaker version of his calculating look levelled at Shiro.  “You cursed earlier.”

“Lance –“

“Your wrist is broken, isn’t it?”

Shiro sets his jaw rather than answer.

“Shir-“

He cuts Lance off, placing his prosthetic over the paladin’s mouth.  Lance almost looks like he’s going to argue, but stops when the sound of running feet hitting the pavement grows louder.  “Shiro,” he whispers, still too loud.  “I can’t run…”

The pain’s all on their upper bodies, but Shiro gets it – the constant jostling was wearing on his wrist too.  He can only imagine the pain Lance was feeling running with his shattered elbow.

“Stay down,” he decides in an instant.  “And get ready to shoot left-handed if you have to.”

He activates his prosthetic, hoping that whoever it is doesn’t have a gun.

A pyramid drone appears first, glowing in Pidge’s signature green.  He doesn’t relax until the green and white armor shines in the dim light.  “Shiro?”  Pidge stage whispers, the last evidence Shiro needs to deactivate his hand.

He slumps back as Pidge gets closer.  “Yeah, it’s us.”

“You look terrible,” Pidge informs them once she’s standing over them.

“I always look amazing,” Lance protest weakly from behind him.

Pidge’s eyes widen and she drops to her knees next to them.  “Holy shit, Lance, what happened?”

“He shattered his elbow,” Shiro says at the same time Lance tells her: “Shiro broke his wrist.”

“Ugh.”  Pidge rocks back on her heels.  “Guys, we need an extraction.  Also get two pods ready in the med bay,” she speaks into her helmet, pausing as half the conversation happens outside their hearing.  “Yeah, well, just hurry.”  She turns back to Shiro.  “Keith says he thought you were supposed to be the responsible one.”

Shiro lets out a weak laugh at that.  Now that help is on the way and the danger is mostly behind them, the adrenaline is wearing off.  And with it, his pain tolerance.  His wrist hurts like a _bitch_.

“Shit.”  Pidge’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel.

“Language,” he responds automatically.

“Hunk, I’m gonna need you to come down and help me.  Lance passed out,” Pidge continues, ignoring him completely.

Passing out actually sounds pretty good right now.  He can’t feel pain if he’s unconscious.  But first…

“Pidge.”

“Not now, Shiro, I’m scanning for enemy signals.”

“Pidge,” he repeats, more insistent.  She looks up this time.  “We have a chip.  Don’t know what’s on it, might be a virus –“

“Then why the fuck did you take it?”

“Language.  But they also said something about Earth.  Make sure it’s safe before you check the data, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.”  Pidge leans in closer.  “Shiro, are you ok?  You don’t look so good.”

“Think I’m gonna –“ is all he manages to say before the darkness consumes him completely.


End file.
